A Proper Bedtime Story
by Amelia-Maria
Summary: Gandalf isn't very good at telling bedtime stories and Merry and Pippin hate thunderstorms. Set after the scene in Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring when Boromir taught the hobbits how to swordfight. Fluff. Seriously.


Hey, all! I found this little bit collecting dust in the corner of my save files, so I decided to drop it off here.

I really enjoy the fact that Boromir is so concerned about the hobbits, Merry and Pippin in specific, so this story focuses on that relationship.

Enjoy and review!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. Nope.

* * *

**A Proper Bedtime Story**

At the end of the day, things don't seem to be that bad off after all. _And thank goodness_, Merry notes to himself, _otherwise we'd all be in for quite a bit of complaining out of Pippin_. Luckily, though, Pippin was in very good hands. The sword lesson earlier in the day had gone over rather well, considering that Aragorn and Sam had dedicated themselves to the task of patching the two youngest hobbits up. For all of the scrapes, cuts, and myriad of bruises sustained, Merry could now block a lethal blow to the head and Pippin could manage an acceptable parry.

"_Owch_," comes Pippin's indignant squall from nearby the campfire. He's sitting in front of Aragorn, scowling as he jerks his face out of the ranger's reach. Aragorn wears an amused expression.

"I've barely even touched it," says the ranger, gesturing to the scrap of cloth in his hand that's been soaked in spirits.

"If you'd rather your jaw swell up and fall off, you'd best not complain," Sam says stoutly from where he is dabbing some spirits on a scrape on one of Merry's elbows. Merry is quiet and good, like Pippin should be.

"My jaw wouldn't dare," Pippin grumbles, and winces as Aragorn uses his distraction as the opportunity to apply the cloth to his raw chin. A low, unhappy whine emits from the youngest hobbit, and he suffers the treatment only a moment longer before he's suddenly leaping to his feet with a loud "Alright, alright! You'll near burn my face away!"

Gandalf observes all of this from the fireside, pipe in mouth and attention half-diverted by the map in his hands he and Frodo are poring over. Under his breath, he mutters, "Troublesome little hobbits," and 'harrumphs' clearly.

"I'd think a little bruising like that wouldn't register such like treatment at all," Pippin goes on, but his complaining dwindles when he catches Gimli's glaring eyes from where the dwarf has been dozing by a tree. By only that, Pippin is chided, and he sinks down onto his own bed-roll to sulk – or rather, scrape at one of the older cuts on his elbow with his thumbnail. By the time his elbow is raw and starting to bleed again, Sam is done fixing up Merry and Merry comes shuffling over to join his younger cousin.

"Aragorn might've fixed that for you," Merry says helpfully.

"I'll be alright. If I'd be in danger of dying from little wounds like these, I'd never have made is past my young'un years."

Merry smiles. "It's a miracle you survived them at all, Pip."

"Such morbid talk," Sam says as he trods past.

Both Merry and Pippin sit quietly for a while, well ignoring Sam's comment and sharing a bit of apple between themselves. Then, they to inch towards Gandalf, eager to know where they were going next. Rather than receiving an answer, they receive a story instead.

"Once upon a yesteryear," Gandalf says sternly around his pipe, "there were two young hobbits just like yourselves."

"With our names?" Pippin asks curiously.

Gandalf, who seemed to find fault with interruptions, sighed and continued without answering.

"The two little hobbits were very mischievous and talkative and had no sense of patience whatsoever; so one day, a great intelligent wizard tied them both to a tree, and then left them there until they learned their lesson and no longer asked any troublesome questions. The End." At this point, Gandalf stands, reaffixes his pipe between his teeth, and strides off to stand by the pony for some thinking.

"I don't think I liked that story as much as I liked ol' Bilbo's," Pippin muttered. From the other side of the campfire, Boromir chuckles and set aside the chunk of firewood he had been idly carving.

"Come, little ones," the Man says, patting the space beside him, "I know a story with much less ice in its message."

By the end of the – much more enjoyable – story, Merry had fallen asleep on Pippin's shoulder and Pippin was hanging onto Boromir's every word up to "happily ever after, except for King Lawgwir."

"I reckon that one bested Gandalf's admirably," Pippin said with a smile, which Boromir finished.

"I should have ended it with 'and now all of the young hobbits must sleep'."

Pippin frowned, because he was quite old enough to be awake so late and he was hardly a tween anymore, thank you very much; but a sudden rumble of thunder in the distance silenced his thoughts. Merry woke sharply, his eyes blinking wide as he registered the sound and traded a frightened look with Pippin.

"'Tis only a bit of thunder," Boromir said, getting up to fix his bedroll.

"And bogs are only a bit of water," Merry said petulantly as he and Pippin went to follow the Man, "but they still drag you down most horribly."

Boromir laid his bedroll out and reclined upon it. "Though you are of a small kind, you hobbits are a hardy folk and I doubt the wind will reach you."

Merry and Pippin traded unhappy looks. They'd likely not receive much sympathy from the rest of the Company. Aragorn and Legolas were much too busy keeping watch together and conversing in their Elven tongue; Gandalf was dozing; Sam and Frodo were fast asleep; Gimli was snoring soundly. Boromir, however, was watching Merry and Pippin with an amused and knowing look in his eye.

"Go fetch your bedding, then," the Man said graciously. Merry and Pippin darted off, both of them returning moments later with their bedrolls in tow, which they dumped on either side of Boromir.

"Shall you hear another story?" Boromir asked. Merry and Pippin began to nod, but ended up simultaneously flinching when the thunder rolled overhead again. "Worry not, hobbits. 'Tis only the sound and not the torrents. We are only being berated by the night for still being awake."

"Well, there's no chance of sleeping with such racket going on," Pippin muttered. Boromir chuckled lightly, then gestured for the hobbits to listen.

"Often have I told others this story. Listen closely…"

* * *

"Oh, they've fallen asleep," Aragorn observed as he took a glance over his shoulder in the direction of the Company. He had earlier noticed the two youngest hobbits crowding around Boromir for a tale. Now, the hobbit pair was fast asleep, each one contently curled as close as they dared to Boromir's side without seeming too obvious.

Legolas smiled. "I thought the story would never end and we would have to tote along exhausted Halflings in the morning."

"Unlikely, now," Aragorn said, "Boromir has done his work well. Perhaps he will more often begin to keep an eye on those two."

"Perhaps so."

Aragorn went to wake Sam for the second watch, and the poor tired hobbit gave Merry and Pippn's sleeping forms a jealous look.

"Here I am, half-dead with exhaustion," Sam grumbled to the ranger, "and those two are more than well off. Where's my bedtime story, I'd like to ask?"

"You should ask Gandalf for one in the morrow," Aragorn said with a secretive, amused smile, "I hear they are quite steeped in morality and affection. Now go stand watch for a while. Gimli will relieve you at dawn."

Sam went off yawning, and Aragorn settled himself down by the fire. The younger hobbits were certainly a folk in need of affection, he noted. As the ranger embraced sleep, the two youngest hobbits rolled onto their stomachs, each one mindlessly resting an arm on Boromir's side. Thus, they slept, and the dark thunder overhead was long since forgotten.


End file.
